Confessions
by Lanhar
Summary: Mark has a confession to make, and its slowly killing him
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaim her: Hmm, if I owned this I wouldn't be here, i would be locked away with Mark and Roger…… Don't own it, its all Mr. Larsons'! **

_I_

_I have a confession to make….._

It was killing him to hold it in.

It had been killing him for a while now, but this. The idea that it might have been his fault.

He couldn't sleep. He lost what weight he had finally managed to put on.

"Mark, you lost that weight." His head hung, he couldn't even look at the Dr.

"I know."

"What happened? You were doing so well?"

"It's been a bad month." Mark shrugs.

"How so, how can it be so bad you lose 20 lbs in three weeks since I saw you last?"

"My roommate, she killed herself. She found out she was positive, slit her wrist in the bathroom. Left a note for her boyfriend, my other roommate." His voice is monotone, and soft. Very unlike his normal self.

"Mark, I can see how that is hard on you, but you have to keep at a healthy weight."

"She killed herself for this, and Roger doesn't know what is going on. He locks himself in the bedroom and gets high all day. Collins has to leave at the end of the summer to go to MIT to teach. I have to find the money for rent, food, and both our meds." His head finally shifts up. "So I am sorry if food falls a little low on the list of things I can't afford. Can I just get my meds?" He asks. He can't deal with this right now, its just to much.

"Get help Mark, go to the meetings."

"Right, whatever, I have to get to work."

Mark spent the next 8 hours at the coffee shop he was working at. It wasn't much, but for now it was paying bills. Collins was working with Roger, the first stages of withdrawal. He wasn't working till he left for university. Just reading and planning his classes.

So he was there to care for Roger, while Mark worked to prepare for what was to come.

Mark had been to confession once with Roger. When they were in college together. He went home to visit Roger's family for Christmas and for the sake of all their sanities he pretended to be Catholic for Roger's grandparents. That meant a confession before mass with the family.

It was an interesting experience. But he did feel better for letting things out.

And so he found himself standing before the sanctuary of a popular tourist cathedral in Manhattan. He figured it was far enough away and to full for the priest to actually remember him later. And he figured it would help to talk about it.

_Forgive me father for I have sinned…. I have a confession to make._

"Hey Mark, how was work?" Collins calls as Mark trudged into the room.

"Great, you know. Work, got paid, got some food." He proceeds to put the meager groceries away in the kitchen. Mostly cereal and some soup, and coffee.

"Nice. He's sleeping. Should be out the rest of the night. I am going to head out, I need a long walk, and a cold drink." Collins gave Mark a hug and took his leave.

Mark slept on the couch, awoken hours later by Roger crying in his room.

It was a long cycle after that. Of work and Roger crying at night. The worst Mark had during those three months was Roger clinging to him as they slept. Roger needed the reassurance that someone was there, not leaving, constant. Mark had to wonder how he was constant, and that lead to darker thoughts than Mark could deal with.

Mark took all the extra hours he could, he knew once Collins left there would be no more working until Roger was truly clean and independent. And they would need the money for medications.

And so it went, Mark managed to save and scrimp enough to make it through with a little help now and again from Collins, they made it to Christmas. And still it was eating at Mark. And still no one knew.

And then they met Angel and Mimi and Joanne. And every one was happy, and he retreated back into his camera, into the film. Couldn't say it now. Not now, it would ruin it all. Couldn't steal that happiness after they had finally found it.

And Roger's words would haunt him in their inadvertent truth.

_Facing the fact you live a lie_

Mark was one big lie. One very large lie.

And part of Mark intend it to take that lie to grave with him, however soon it came.

Mark was a lie, and Mark knew this wasn't the kind of lie you recover from.

This was a lie that would change everything.

But Mark kept it. And Roger came home, and Mimi came back to life. And they were happy again.

And Mark kept loosing weight.

He worked, and he slept, and he worked and he slept.

And his friends joked about his work. And he would smile.

He smiled and he sank farther away.

And they would laugh that his hips stuck out so far from his skin, and he would eat the cookie with dinner they got him, and he would laugh.

He watched Collins get weaker, and then better. He watched Mimi go through Rehab. He watched Roger propose so they could spend what time they had left together. He saw Maureen and Joanne mouthing the vows at the wedding.

And then what he saw was the white of the hospital.

Wait, hospital. How the fuck did he end up the one in bed in the hospital.

"I told you to get your weight up, to stay healthy Mr. Cohen." His doctor again, standing over him. Oh, right. He hadn't been eating enough.

"It's been a tuff year."

"That's what you always say. You have people outside waiting on you. They seem rather agitated." He glanced at Mark. "You didn't tell them?"

"I couldn't."

"Ashamed."

"Not like you think."

"They claim to be your family."

"In the only way that matters."

"Then they will understand."

"Oh they understand the disease, three of them have it. What they won't understand is that it is my fault one of them has it."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Don't have one, she left me for another girl."

"Then?"

"He doesn't know I have it, and he didn't get it from me like that, it was, complicated."

"Do you want me to let them in?"

"What were they told?"

"The nurse told them it was complications with your condition. She assumed they would know."

"Send them in."

"Marky? Pookie what's wrong?" Trust Maureen to be the first in the room.

Mark hangs his head, he doesn't want to explain.

"I haven't been eating and resting enough." He didn't want to say this here.

"They said it was complications with your condition. What condition Mark?"

"Being me apparently." He muttered, but Collins caught it and couldn't quite stifle a laugh.

"Seriously man, what's wrong?" Collins looked down, and then he did the one thing Mark was dreading, he picked up the chart at the foot of his bed. And Mark knew just when it sunk in, just when Collins made it down the chart to that line, cause his face paled a little, and anger welled up in his eyes. But his voice was still quiet.

"Leave." Not what Mark expected.

"What's it say?" Roger asked.

"Go, I need to talk to Mark, look Rog, its something I need to talk to him about, just go, I will let you back in soon. It says he will be fine by tomorrow." Collins almost had to shove the group out of the room.

"How long?" Collins asked as soon as he heard the door shut.

"3 years." Mark meet his eyes, daring him to ask how. Mark needed this, to rage at someone.

"So that was, God Mark why didn't you say anything, how the fuck did this happen?"

"That mugging, right after April moved in. It wasn't a mugging, they raped me Col, raped me and you and everyone else were to fucking high to notice me limp back into the loft." Mark was angry, but his voice was level. He could vividly remember coming home that night to the party in the loft. His limping form, covered in ripped clothes and bandages from the ER.

"You knew for 3 fucking years and you said nothing?"

"You never asked what was wrong." Mark was trying to hold on to being angry.

"We all ask about you all the time man."

"Yeah, you ask if I eat enough, if I sleep enough. Never anything past that and my films. Roger even joked about the bruises on my face the next day, asking if I ran into something with the camera." Mark was bitter, but there was more.

"So then all those years for medication."

"I had to get mine too."

"Mark, I mean, how did you, why?" Collins was at a loss for words, and it was scarry in a way that he had no words for Mark. He was wasn't sure if that should make him more or less worried about Roger's reaction.

"I wanted to say something, but no one wanted to talk about that mugging, and I didn't want to bring up being raped. How do you bring that up to talk about Collins, just blurt it out? It's not that easy. And then by the time I had dealt with it. April was there, and then Maureen, and fuck then the suicide." Mark was shaky now, his voice giving out.

"Mark, what about that?" Fuck how did Collins always know that one worst thing to ask?

"It was my fault." Hollow, that was the only want to describe his voice.

"What?"

"My fault they got it. How do you tell your best friend he has aids cause his girlfriend got high and thought it would be funny if I did to?"

"She did what?"

"She thought me high would be funny, loosen me up. So she shot me up while I was asleep, I woke to the needle in my arm, and before I could stop her she was on to Roger, smirking about the fun we could all have."

"Aw fuck man you don't know that." Collins tried, but he was still in shock.

"Yeah, I do." Mark just knew. And part of Collins agreed, they had always wondered. Roger wasn't one to sleep around. Yeah, pick up girls, flirt. But above all Roger had wanted to be safe. He had already lost a band mate to OD and AIDS.

"So what are you going to do?"

"Chart really say I can go home tomorrow?" Mark asked. He already knew the answer, knew it when he saw the lesions last week on his arms. Knew when the cough had stuck around for three. He knew.

"Naw man I made that up. All it had was your condition."

"Send in Roger. I have to let this go."

"You sure?"

"I don't have the time not to be." Mark replied, and this time his eyes wouldn't meet Collins.

"What do you mean?" Collins voice was low and worried and angry.

"It doesn't say I am going home, because I won't be."

"How do you know that man, you look fine."

"T cells were low the last few visits, it would have been better if I had the money for the meds, but I gave them all to Mimi and Roger. They deserve the time."

"Fuck, Mark." Collins all but yelled. "You can't make that kind of decision. You can't just give up like that."

"He deserves the time to be happy after what I did to him."

"Mark."

Mark simply shrugged.

"Send him in, just him." Mark said. Collins left the room. Roger entered, worried and curious.

"Roger, I have a confession to make."

_Forgive me father….._


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** So I really hadn't planned to make this a chaptered piece. But there were some very nice and supportive reviews asking for Roger's reaction. And so I sat down to wait and see what Roger had to say. And this is what I got. I hope you all enjoy it. I don't think its as strong as Mark's POV, but its here.

As for the grammar problems, sorry about all that, I don't have a beta but I do have dyslexia, so I don't catch all my own mistakes… any you point out I will try and fix, and if you want to volunteer to be my beta…..

THANKS to all my reviews, you are much loved and appreciated! I wouldn't post without you! Ya'll got Roger to speak up this time, and possibly a third and final chapter to this, we shall have to wait and see.

_I have a confession to make…. I have AIDS_

Roger would never look at a church the same way, a priest, a sermon even. He would never walk into confession and not see those eyes, and hear those words. Roger doubted he would ever be able to utter those words again. Not that Roger was overly religious to begin with, but still. This one moment would haunt him.

It was silent in the room save for the beeps of the heart monitor they had Mark hooked up to. Roger couldn't break the church like feel of the room, the silence of a confessional hung about, even with the constant beeping of the machines.

Roger watched Mark sleeping, soft breaths coming, hiding the fact that his best friend was slowly dieing. Roger slid his hands from Mark's, mindful of the IV in Mark's arm. He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his friends face, watching him sleep. He almost looked peaceful. If not for those lesions on his arms, Roger would never have believed Mark was that sick.

Roger silent was a hard thing to fathom. He was the personification of noise. He clomped and stomped when he walked, he played his guitar or hummed constantly, and he even muttered in his sleep. Roger hadn't known what to say to Mark, he was so shocked that he couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe for a time. All he could do was let the tears run down his face and watch Mark, watch his best friend sleeping. Dieing.

He didn't have words, or music. There was no noise in the back of his mind. Roger lived music, but now. Now the world was like a silent film. There were pictures in his head, but no sound.

He saw Mark the first time they met. As he walked into the loft after Benny. Newly graduated from Brown, camera gear and a suitcase all he had to his name.

He saw Mark filming their first

gig at CBGB's. Saw the smile on his friends face.

He saw Mark at the table with a bowl of Captain Crunch. A large grin on his face at the glare Roger remembered giving him after a ruff night of drinking.

After that the pictures were blurry and sloppy. Like when Roger himself had tried to film with the camera. Hazy, impossible to make out shots with a few in focus moments that held little or no meaning.

He could almost make out the night he saw Mark come home mugged, the night Mark got high. Vaguely see a Mark covered in the red of April's blood.

After that there was a lot of darkness and pain of withdrawal. And then Mark with a sad smile when Roger would go out with Mimi.

And all that time, Mark had been there, Mark had been getting smaller. And only now was Roger silent enough to see that. All that time and all Roger wanted was Noise, and now in silence he realized the mistake.

Roger was still silent when he left the hospital room. He was completely silent. He had no words, he had soft steps, not the normal glomping the people below them always complained about. Even the tears in his eyes would fall silently on Mimi's shoulders as she held him. He didn't notice her arms when she hugged him, he didn't notice that he had sunk soundless into the chair next to her. He couldn't hear their questions, or the shuffling of feet as the group surrounded him.

It couldn't be true. It, he, Mark? His head in his hands while a small pair rubbed his back. No one spoke. They just looked at him, and then to Collins, waiting for an explanation. Roger, silent, was a scary thing. Roger crying was not normal, though not any harder to take than Mark being in the hospital with a pre-existing condition that he told none of them about.

Collins gave him time to stop the tears, or at least slow them. Roger rubbed his face dry and looked up into the dark eyes of his oldest friend. He had a hard time forming words, but Collins seemed to already know.

"He told you?" He asked Collins, when he could find the will to speak, to break that sanctuary silence that surrounded him. Collins nodded.

"I saw it on the chart. I didn't know till right then." Collins shook his head, in disbelief that Mark would keep this from them all.

"How could he?" Roger's voice was horse, the emotions to much for the normally strong voiced singer.

"I don't know man. I wish I did. I had no clue." And the rest of their friends watched, waiting for an explanation of what was wrong with Mark. What had upset Collins and unsettled Roger so much to cause them to react this way.

And then Roger started to laugh. It was the most inappropriate noise to make, and Roger was sick of the silence. It was too much. Too much to take in with a straight face. He had been to right about Mark living for his work, he had been right Mark was a lie.

And now the lie was dieing. Dieing so that he, Roger, could live.

"You ok man?"

"No, not at all. Its just, we were all so wrong, so blind. And yet I got it right, he was lying. All that time." The laughter started to die out a bit.

"Yeah, it was a lie." Collins gave a weak chuckle, he was worried about how Roger was acting.

"He was so worried about everyone else, so worried about you and me and Mimi. And we never, not once." Roger has stopped laughing. "He's gonna die Col, he is gonna go first and I never asked what happened." Now his voice was soft and scratchy. It revealed a pain, a sorrow and a fear his eyes and his mouth never would. While Mark wore his heart in his eyes, Roger wore his in his voice. The film and the music, eyes and mouth. Both so expressive, yet so uncontrollable at times.

"None of us did." Collins reminded him.

"I laughed at him, I remember him coming home that night. I remember laughing at him the next day. Picking on him for running into a pole with that damn camera. I took every bite of food he gave me, every damn pill. And I never once fucking asked. And you know the kicker Collins. He was worried what I would think. He was afraid for so long that I would hate him for this. Worried himself to death over what to say and how to say it." Roger sank farther into the chair.

It was silent again. Roger was too upset to cry. Mark was worried about how he would react, how angry he would be, and Roger could do was weep inside that his best friend though he would hate him. Hate him for something he had no control over.

Maureen made her way to the hospital room door, wanting to check on how Mark was doing, and hoping for some answers to what the hell was going on.

"He's asleep. Whatever they gave him knocked him out after we talked. Or after he talked." Roger stopped her. She looked at him to ask why that mattered; she could just sit and wait.

"You didn't give him a response." Collins cut off whatever Roger would have said next to Maureen. How could Roger not say anything when Mark had confessed what he had.

"I didn't know what to say to him." Truth was Roger didn't know how to say it. He didn't know how to tell Mark that it wasn't his fault. Didn't know how to make Mark understand.

"He said all of that and you didn't have anything to say?"

"What did you want me to say Collins? Sorry my girlfriend was an ass. Sorry we were too high to notice how fucked over you were? Sorry that you are dieing cause I was too caught up in my own shit to notice you? He is my best friend Collins, and I let this go on for years and I never, never fucking asked what was wrong."

"Mark is dying?" Maureen finally asked, afraid of the answer. She had heard him say it before, was she not listening?

"Yeah, Mark is dying." Roger looked up at everyone. "Mark has AIDS."

"You mean he is positive?" Joanne asked. "How could…"

"No." Roger cut her off. "He isn't just positive. He has full blown AIDS. As in there are lesions already on his arms. As in that cold was actually pneumonia." He looked her in the eye. "Mark isn't going home tomorrow." Roger looked to Maureen, and then Mimi. He wanted them to know this was serious.

"My Marky? But how did?" She looked at Roger. "What, one of your episodes end poorly?" She was getting ready to enter an angry tantrum at Roger.

"Stop Maureen. It wasn't Roger's fault." Collins cut in. They all knew that she was blaming Roger for this.

"It was April's." Roger glared at her.

"No, it wasn't April's fault." Collins responded. He was getting a little upset at the way Roger was reacting.

"Yes, it was." Roger stood. He was adamant about this. He was right damn it and he was going to stand by this anger at his former girlfriend.

"No, blame her for you if you want, but not Mark." Collins was tired, he wanted to go home and have a good nights sleep. He wanted to think over this new Mark, this new death he would have to face some day. He didn't want to argue with Roger over this, he thought they were past the blame April game.

"I do that as well. But she was the reason he got beaten up in the first place. I remember that night. I remember her words to Mark earlier in the day about the party she wanted to have and him not ruining it. I remember Mark's face when he left to film, when I asked him to stay and party with us. I remember hearing the Man talk about that shrimp he got paid to beat up. It was April's fault cause she didn't want Mark around to stop me from having as much fun." Roger was angry now, angry at April for what she did. Angry at himself for brining her into the loft. Angry at Mark for not talking about it. And Angry in general that this stupid cycle had no real end.

"She paid him to what, you mean that night?" Maureen looked from Collins to Roger and back, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, he really did get beaten up. He was raped and we were too high to notice." Roger looked at her. She had been waiting at the loft for Mark to make it home. That was the first time she had tried to break up with him. It took her another year or so to actually get up the nerve to really break off with him.

"So he has had this for the past 3 years?"

"Yeah."

"And he never told me?" Roger couldn't decide if she was more upset that she had been at risk unknowingly or that Mark had kept something from her in general.

"What would you have him say Maureen? Hey I know you want to leave me so go right

ahead, I was raped and now have a death sentence, so don't worry about breaking my heart."

"It would have been nice to know that was why he wouldn't sleep with me."

"You were cheating on him Maureen." Roger pointed out, scoffing at her denial of the truth of the matter. This wasn't Mark's fault, and she couldn't make it that way.

"Yeah, I know that. But still. He should have said something." She was protesting the fact that Mark kept something from her. He never kept secrets, they all knew that. Mark was the kind of person who wore their heart on their sleeve, that's what they all loved about him. His love and devotion to the family they formed was seen in every smile, every twinkling eye, every shot of film. And every single one of them missed the most important change in Mark.

"What, what should he have said? We should have asked what was wrong when he cried. Why he lost so damn much weight. We never asked." Roger looked around at the group in the hall. Daring any of them to contradict him. Daring one of them to say they knew, they asked, the cared enough to dig deeper than the skin. Mark knew everything about each of them. He knew every birthday, holiday, religion, favorite color, parent and sibling name. He knew their favorite food and drinks. Their medication schedules, what they were allergic to, afraid of and what they wanted to be in their dreams. And Roger could only remember that Mark liked to drink Guinness only from the tap at the bar down the street from the Cat Scratch. And that he loved the scarf his baby sister had given him before he left for college and she was killed by a drunk driver. Roger couldn't even remember her name.

"He was always watching us." Mimi said softly. Roger noticed her tears for the first time. "He was always making us take our medicine, eat our dinner. Eat his dinner. And we never asked why." She looked to Roger.

"He blames himself for me and April. He didn't say anything. She thought that she could get him to loosen up about the drugs. She was still mad then at him, even after the mugging. So she shot him up one night when he was sleeping. And then she did me. That's probably how we got it. So he never said anything, he thought he didn't deserve forgiveness. He didn't deserve it cause he killed April and me." Roger shook his head. "And in turn it's me that is killing him."

"What do you mean Roger?" Mimi asked.

"He stopped taking his own meds, so he could afford ours. He thinks we deserve the time to be happy, so he is killing himself."

"WHAT?" Maureen screeched.

"He hasn't been taking his own AZT for the past few months so he could afford to pay for mine and Mimi's."

"But we were both working?" She asked. They thought they were helping to cover their own cost. Mark was teaching them to manage what money they did have. So they could get clear of debt and start saving for their lives together. Maybe for a real honeymoon.

"I don't know. I think he has been lying about our expenses for a while. Maybe that is why he didn't mind sharing the loft with us." Roger shook his head. "I don't know."

"He really isn't going home tomorrow?" Maureen whimpered. And this time no one could stop her from walking into Mark's room and sitting next to him, taking a hand in hers and letting her tears fall on his arm.

Roger stayed outside. He wasn't able to go in and risk Mark waking up. Because when Mark woke up, Roger had to tell him that it wasn't Mark's fault they were both dying. No it wasn't Mark's fault at all. It was his, his and April's. But at least Roger had the time.

He had to have at least that much time.

Roger had his own confession to make. His own guilt to own up to, his own forgiveness to ask for.

_I have a confession….._


	3. Chapter 3

**DON'T OWN IT**

**AN:** Ok, so here is the end. Hope you all like it, let me know what you think of the story, my writing, anything to help me get better! Or to make me smile, that's always nice.

It took Roger two days to find himself alone, in the hospital with Mark, and with the courage to talk with him.

He closed the door, keeping out their friends. He left a note on the door, telling them he was speaking with Mark and not to disturb them.

He looked at those ice blue eyes, and he could see fear. Fear of rejection, fear of reprisal. Fear that Roger hadn't already spoken and fear of what he would say now.

Those eyes that saw so much, and they showed so much. Roger wondered if Mark knew how much of him could be read in his eyes.

Mark watched him move the single chair closer to the bed, facing it so they could look at each other comfortably. Roger was silent a few moments, his eyes closed. Thinking of what to say, how to say it. He said a silent pray, begging for guidance in how to say what was needed.

"Roger?" Mark was timid, he really was scared.

"Mark, I can't forgive you." Roger started, his eyes still closed.

"Ok." Rejection, defeat clear in Mark's voice. He would just give up so easily, like he assumed this was beyond Roger. That angered the rocker.

"I can't forgive you for something that wasn't your fault. Mark I have my own confession to make." Roger finally looked up, meeting Mark's eyes. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

"It's not your fault we both have AIDS. It wasn't you who gave us this death sentence. It was April's fault."

"But she didn't know, if I had told you." Mark was rushing his words. Stumbling over them to get them out, to take the burden on himself. Always so self sacrificing.

"Mark, for once just shut up and let me explain. I really got it this time." Roger snapped. He didn't mean to yell, but Mark was not listening.

"It was April's fault. Because she paid to have you mugged. She wanted to keep you out of the loft, she was mad at you for being so close to me. She was angry at you for being right about the addictions. She paid to get you ruffed up enough that you wouldn't be home to bother us. It was her fault. And I knew that, I knew that on some level with the drugs and the drinks. I heard the Man talking about it one night. I just didn't put it together with you until you spoke up."

Mark just looked at him, sorrow and tears in his eyes.

"So you see, I can't forgive you for something that you had no control over. I am the one that needs to be forgiven." Roger told him, he was firm, he was adamant, he was also teary eyed. He had done this to Mark, he had done this to his best friend.

"It is not your fault Roger, you asked me to stay in and party with you, I should have had fun that once. If I had stayed home, none of this would have happened." Mark spoke, his voice tired and broken. So like his body.

"Yes, it is. I brought her home, I let her in, I kept her around. I knew she didn't like you and I let her get away with far to much."

"Roger, if you are going to insist that this is your fault, and I am going to insist it is mine, lets just agree that it is hers." Mark told him, reaching out to hold Roger's hand.

Roger took the hand, feeling how cold it was, and it made him want to weep. Mark really didn't have much time, he really screwed this up.

"Sorry I won't be there for you Rog. I know I promised, but I don't think I will make it." Mark told him.

"It's not your fault." Roger got out, though how he didn't know. The lump in his throat felt it should be choking him.

"Yeah, it kind of is. I didn't take my meds, that is my fault." Mark's hand went limp and he leaned back into his pillows. "Sorry Rog."

"Stop saying that Mark, just stop. It's not your fault, none of it. You didn't ask to get sick, you didn't ask to be poor. You didn't ask for a junkie roomie who cant take care of himself. Stop beating yourself up and focus on you, for once. Please, for me?" Roger was in tears, at the sight of Mark like this. This was not the way it was supposed to go.

"Fine, not our fault." Mark smiled weakly. "I think I am going to sleep now." He barely got out before the medication took over.

Roger sat there watching. It was the end. He knew that. The end would come soon for Mark. It wasn't that Mark wasn't a fighter, it was that Mark fought for everyone else. Anyone but himself. Mark had never learned to take care of himself. Sure, he could always remember Roger and Collins and Mimi's medication schedules. He would make sure they had food and always ate, but when it came to himself, Mark was hopeless.

That had been a reason that Roger and Mimi agreed to stay in the loft with Mark after they got married. Some one had to stay with Mark and make sure he took care of himself. They just never realized how much Mark needed to be looked after.

Or how much he really looked after them. Bills came in that they never looked at before, rent, medication, clinic visits, food, electricity, water, phone. No one had ever really given much thought to any of it but Mark. He always made sure everything was paid, no matter what he had to do. Roger now wondered what else Mark had done without to give Roger everything he had.

They sat with him in shifts, talking about anything and nothing, watching him rally for a week before beginning to fade again.

Roger was with him in the end. Only Roger. Mark had sent everyone home earlier in the day, sleeping away hours while Roger strummed his guitar.

He had begun to play Musetta's Waltz when Mark stirred. He blinked away the sleep and smiled at Roger.

"Fitting song to play, since it's the first one I heard you play when I walked into the loft that day." His voice was so raw, so strained, and yet still so Mark. His eyes still this deep placid blue, tired and sick, but calm and lit up at the site of his best friend.

Roger gave a small laugh.

"I guess." He shifted the guitar around and pulled something from his pocket. "I got you this. I went to confession last week and it made me think of you. I though well, this way if you're wrong, maybe you can use it to get in anyway." He smiled a sad smile and handed Mark a pale blue rosary. Mark held it close to his face and smiled a true grin that reached his sunken eyes.

"Thanks Roger, feel like I should say a Hail Mary or something now that I have it." Mark stopped to cough and Roger reached for a glass of water.

"I got you something as well." Mark said after his drink. He reached around his neck and lifted a necklace off. It was golden with a star of David hanging from the chain.

"To make us equal." He smiled as Roger slipped the chain around his neck. It seems even this far gone, they still thought exactly alike.

"I guess we are." Roger smiled, and then watched Mark, as if waiting.

"Play for me?" Mark asked. And with tears in his eyes and a lump the size of New York City in his throat Roger picked up his guitar and began to strum out the old worn out waltz. He watched as Marks breathing even out, slowed down and at last stopped.

No more late night chats over beer and early morning talks over coffee. No more films and parties, no more confession.

"Love you bro, I'll be seeing you soon I guess. Till then, stay out of trouble hu? Never know when I will make it up there to watch out for you, so this time try and watch out for yourself. Say hi to Angel for me, she should be watching over you for me now. And you keep an eye on us." Roger let the tears fall on Mark's face. The rosary held tight in Mark's grip.

"In case you are still worried, I forgive you, for anything you feel you did. No more confessions." Roger slunk out of the room then, as the nurses rallied around his friends empty body.

Roger thought it was fitting it was just those two at the end. He had always known it would be, though he had pictured it another way in his mind. He was glad Mark had someone there. Maybe this once Mark was selfish enough in an odd way to get what he had always wanted. He wasn't alone at the end. Roger wasn't mad at Mark for dying. Not like Mark though he was. Roger was mad that Mark had to die that way, that Mark had to sacrifice his own health and life for Roger, while Roger lazed around with his wife and his guitar.

Roger made sure the rosary was in Mark's hand when he was buried, despite the protest of Mark's mother. And Roger made sure he was never with out his Star of David. Though the only time Roger ever set foot in a church after that confession was to attend Collins' and Mimi's funerals.

Roger released only one record before he joined Mark. He called it Confessions, in honor of his friend. Each song held something dear to Roger, some confession to friends and family that he had held in. He confessed fear, anger, pain, betrayal and heartbreak. He confessed the love for each he could not say in words. Even April was there, a confession of his anger and still his love to her, his thanks that she helped bring Mark to him. Maureen was there, a thanks for her spirit that drove him to finish the songs on the album, and to keep living after Mark. To Joanne for taming Maureen, and his love of her anal quirks. Mimi was his light, and he thanked her for reminding him of where he ahd come from and what his friends had done for him in withdrawal, it was an odd song, though she also had Your eyes, his pubic profession of their love. Collins and Angel had a song called Hope and Love, a reminder that even the oddest couplings show beauty. And a few, for all of them, were songs of sorrow at what he felt he had done to them. It was a best seller, it brought his family to see him at his death bed, though they were shoved out by Maureen and Joanne, who had promise to stay with him at the end.

The cd was sold in joint packaging with Mark's film.

The dedication was simple it read

_I have a confession…._

When Roger opened his eyes again, it was to a face and a voice he hadn't heard in a very long time.

"You have nothing left to confess Roger, and I have nothing to forgive you for. Welcome home." And he was engulfed in a hug from his best friend.

……_.. You are forgiven_


End file.
